One
by Anachronistic Dime
Summary: Rated for heavy swearing. This was for Lia's fic challenge on the yahoo DPS fic thingie...R&R, please. This story was written the way it is for a reason, read on to find out!


Wet To the Skin  
  
By Negsica  
  
For Lia's cliche challenge  
  
A/N: First, I must say that this was wicked fun to write. *evil grin* I own nothing, but Dalton's poem is one I found on a board a while back, no idea who wrote it. If it's yours, you can shoot me. :-D Also, the writing is a bit...plainer here, not so many metaphors. This was hard to write. Swearing abound; you have been warned. Enjoy! Oh, and Todd's poem is angsty and contrived; I'm mentally drained, but it's so bad that it's funny.  
  
Silver poured down outside the windows of Welton Academy as twenty-some young men sat listening to the Captain explaining their next assignment.  
  
"All right, lads. You have three days in which to write a poem and deliver it in front of the class. Not only must this be completely your own work," here he stressed the last three words, "it must also be a *love* poem. It can draw upon themes from nature, or be about a specific person..." Again, he stressed the last few syllables, glancing around eagerly at the class. "Now, go forth and...write. Class dismissed."   
  
Alone in their respective rooms, the boys sat, and brooded, and cursed.   
  
"What the *fuck* am I supposed to write, Todd?" moaned his roommate. "I'm not used to writing poetry, just reading it."  
  
"Why don't you write about... a person. Like Mr. Keating said," he replied absently, never once looking up from his notebook.  
  
Just then, a certain loudmouth burst in. "Hey, what've you two goons decided to do for ol' Cap'n's assignment?"  
  
A very pissed Neil Perry looked up, and hissed, "I don't know, Dalton. What did you write?" He chuckled and smirked at this, and would only say, "Good things come to those who wait." He ducked as a well-thumbed copy of Shelley flew threw the air, almost decapitating him. He muttered a curse, and vanished.  
  
Many, many long hours filled with fun four letter words, death threats, and balls of crumpled paper followed, long after Todd had slipped beneath the covers, his own poem resting neatly on the floor beside his bed. Neil eyed it hungrily. He couldn't, could he? Just peek, just a bit, to get an idea? It was dishonest, and it might shatter his roomie's fragile trust, but it'd be worth it.  
  
He reached over and slid the notebook toward him, and when he looked down, he got a surprise...  
  
"YOU CHEATING FUCK! GET AWAY FROM MY POETRY!" was scrawled in huge bubble letters across the page. He gasped, then fought the urge to laugh hysterically. He stood, went to the window, and banged his head against it several times. He never would have expected this from Todd...so quiet. He wouldn't say boo to a goose.  
  
Who the fuck invented that phrase, anyway? Neil wondered. What kind of sick pleasure do you get from that? He collapsed onto his bed and drifted into a weary sleep.  
  
The sun rose, as it always did, and soon they were back in good old Keating's class, waiting to be picked out and slaughtered ruthlessly. Well, maybe not that brutal, but hey, they were teenagers. Sensitive, for the most part, especially to baring their souls.   
  
Mr. Anderson was first. Surprisingly, he showed no signs of embarrassment, and seemed almost eager to get up and get it over with. He cleared his throat and began to read.  
  
"Wet to the skin,  
  
Moist to the touch,  
  
I'm aching inside  
  
I need you so much.  
  
The smell of your hair  
  
The feel of your skin  
  
I'm thinking of you  
  
And I'm dying again. +  
  
Stars above  
  
Ground below  
  
Six feet down  
  
Nowhere else to go  
  
I pray each night that you will see  
  
How much you really mean to me."  
  
Many boys were writhing with supressed laughter, and even Todd had tears of mirth in his eyes. Neil, however, was dumbfounded. THIS was the glorious, exalted poem? He had to be shitting them. Keating applauded, nonetheless, and the next name was called. Charlie Dalton. He stepped to the front of the room smoothly, and, with a cocky grin, recited his poem from memory.  
  
"I love you so much it hurts,  
  
I love you so much it...squirts.  
  
I really don't know what to do  
  
It seems I'm out of luck,  
  
The only thing I want from you  
  
Is a single, luscious -"  
  
  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Dalton," the captain interrupted. Nervous laughted ensued, and the remainder of the class, for better or worse, delivered their poetry. The bell, mercifully, had rung before Neil's turn came, due in part to the fact that he'd made a point of staring at Keating pleadingly every few seconds. Thank God for small favors.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
At dinner, he could feel Dalton's eyes practically drilling holes into his forehead, and he finally looked up and snapped, "What?"  
  
Charlie, of course, feigned complete innocence, and turned his attentions to his creamed corn. *  
  
The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful, up until the point where Neil decided to retire early, leaving Todd with the others in their study group. Little did he know that SOMEONE...(spooky dramatic music) was following him. The dark, narrowed eyes watched as he opened the door to his room, and began to remove his tie and Welton blazer. Then, he dashed inside and kissed him, wet, and slick, and hard.  
  
Pulling back, Dalton laughed at the expression on Neil's face. Much to his surprise, Neil walked to the door, shut it tightly, and locked it with a faint click. Then, he strode back over to where Charlie was standing. They fell onto the floor in a mad fit of tongues and clothing, and then...  
  
OK, this is where I draw the line. I am NOT writing a sex scene for you people. One, I'm laughing too hard, and two, I'm no good at writing smut. If anyone would like to, feel free to add to this. I deny ownership of this beastly little thing.  
  
+ : A senior in my speech class first semester wrote a song that had part of that in it.  
  
* : How the hell am I supposed to know what they eat? lol. I never went to Welton, though I wish I had... he he he. Think of all the fun I could have ~_^ The end 


End file.
